It was this evidence of the necessity of the arrangement that chiefly contributed to bring it to pass. When the pressure of difficulty lessened, Mervyn was half ashamed of his own
conquest, disliked the obligation, and expected to be bored by ‘the old girl,’ as, to Phœbe’s intense disgust, he would speak of Miss Charlecote. Still, in essentials he was civil and considerate, and Honor carefully made it evident that she did not mean to obtrude herself, and expected him to sit loose to the female part of the company. Divining that he would prefer the start from home not to be simultaneous, and also favouring poor Bertha’s shuddering horror of the direct line of railway to London, she proposed that the ladies should work their way by easy journeys on cross lines to Southampton, whilst Mervyn settled his affairs at the office, and then should come to them with Robert, who had made it possible to take an Easter holiday in which to see them safe to their destination in Switzerland.
Phœbe tried to acquiesce in Miss Charlecote’s advice to trust Mervyn’s head to Robert’s charge, and not tease him with solicitude; but the being debarred from going to London was a great disappointment. She longed for a sight of St. Matthew’s; and what would it not have been to see the two brothers there like brothers indeed? But she must be content with knowing that so it was. Mervyn’s opposition was entirely withdrawn, and though he did not in the least comprehend and was far from admiring his brother’s aims, still his name and his means were no longer withheld from supporting Robert’s purposes, ‘because he was such a good fellow, it was a shame to stand in his way.’ She knew, too, rather by implication than confession, that Mervyn imagined his chief regrets for the enormous extravagance of the former year, were because he had thus deprived himself of the power of buying a living for his brother, as compensation for having kept him out of his father’s will. Whether Mervyn would ever have made the purchase, and still more whether Robert would have accepted it, was highly doubtful, but the intention was a step for which to be thankful; and Phœbe watched the growing friendliness of the long estranged pair with constantly new delight, and anticipated much from Mervyn’s sight of St. Matthew’s with eyes no longer jaundiced.
She would gladly, too, have delayed the parting with Miss Fennimore, who had made all her arrangements for a short stay with her relatives in London, and then for giving lessons at a school. To Phœbe’s loyal spirit, it seemed hard that even Miss Charlecote’s care should be regarded as compensating for the loss of the home friend of the last seven years, and the closer, dearer link was made known as she sat late over the fire with the governess on Easter Sunday evening, their last at Beauchamp. Silent hitherto, Miss Fennimore held her peace no longer, but begged Phœbe to think of one who on another Sunday would no longer turn aside from the Altar. Phœbe lifted her eyes, full of hope and inquiry, and as she understood, exclaimed, ‘O, I am glad! I knew you must have some deep earnest reason for not being with us.’
‘You never guessed?’
‘I never tried. I saw that Robert knew, so I hoped.’
‘And prayed?’
‘Yes, you belonged to me.’
‘Do I belong to you now?’
‘Nay, more than ever now.’